For you

I cross the sands and the wakes,

blisters and boils rise at the heat,

I fear that this is not all it takes,

I live off the land and natures meat,

when the sun drops below,

temperature follows close behind,

the plants stop their grow,

and frost is not so kind,

when the moon disappears,

the dreadful heat is mornings friend,

but soon my sweat will drop like tears,

and water the land will not lend,

for you I walk all these miles,

and for you I would walk from Ecuador to the British isles.